


One More Time With Feeling

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Unrequited Love, also because jim, also really bad examples about how to deal with emotional problems, seriously guys angst like whoa because jim, unless alcohol counts as comfort which i don't think it does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 19:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1660019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim realizes he’s in love when he’s dying. (Post ST:ID)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Time With Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the wonderful Morgan for beta-ing. 
> 
> Also, the title is from Regina Spektor's "One More Time With Feeling" because I love that song and because I don't know how to title things and I'm also unoriginal so. Yeah. If you haven't listened to it, you seriously should because 1) Regina Spektor is a goddess among woman and 2) the song is _amazing_.
> 
> Anyway, here y'all go. My first foray into the Star Trek fandom.

Jim realizes he’s in love when he’s dying. His breath is coming slower, his body is starting to shut down, and still he finds the energy to beg Scotty not to call Bones, because he knows Bones would walk right in, contamination be damned, and he _can’t_ have that, no matter how much he wants to see Bones one last time, to be near him for one last time.

He thinks he’s been in a love for a while now, and he’d usually be freaking out about it, but he’s kind of preoccupied with dying, so he can’t really put any time into that. As it is, it’s just a sudden _need_ , an ache to see Bones, one he can’t listen to no matter how much he wants to.

He gets Spock, instead of Bones, and it’s—good. It’s safe. Spock is safe. Jim knows he won’t say anything incriminating to Spock, knows that Spock won’t do anything rash. 

He hears himself admitting he’s afraid, and hears Spock’s response, hazy and vague, and closes his eyes, thankful to Spock for his attempt at comfort but aching for the gruff, fond voice and affectionate sarcasm instead of the lilting voice he’s hearing.

***

In a surprising turn of events, he’s not dead. 

He wakes up to the sound of a beeping monitor and squints at Bones, because _what the fuck?_ Bones scoffs, rolls his eyes, and informs him that he was “barely dead.” 

He stares at Bones, the words of gratitude stuck in his throat, unable to get out. He’s drugged, heavily, but he’s cognizant enough to know that if he tries to thank Bones, all that’ll come out is a mess of emotion and half-baked sentences, all that’ll come out is _i love you god i love you how can i love you_ and he can’t have that.

It’s his dirty little secret to keep, thank you very much, and anyway, how would he try to _thank_ Bones? They never thank each other. That’s not how they work. 

So he bitches at Bones, because that’s normal and expected, and instead thanks Spock for saving his life, because Spock _has_ , and he’s grateful, and he squashes down that part of him that wants Bones back, that wants to see him and touch him and to make sure he’s safe, because obviously they’re safe, but his death was supposed to have saved them all, and if he’s not dead, well, he needs to make _sure_.

It doesn’t make sense, not even a little, but he doesn’t give a fuck, probably because he’s drugged six ways to Sunday (as Bones would put it). 

He sleeps with images of body bags and death imprinted inside his eyelids, wakes with a start, and is unable to get anymore rest, unable to shut his eyes. When Bones asks why he isn’t sleeping, he lies through his teeth, complains about physical pain that isn’t there, doesn’t say that he wants Bones near him, that every time he shuts his eyes he can feelhimself dying, can see _Bones_ dying, so he can’t shut his eyes.

He’s good at not saying what he’s feeling. 

***

He’s finally let out of the hospital, and he goes through the motions of being a hero again. Smiles pretty for the camera and jokes around with the paparazzi even though he’s never ever felt as drained as he does right now (almost dying does that to a guy; who knew?); he makes sure he’s busy every minute of the day, tries to distract himself, but his mind keeps on coming back to the fact that, apparently, he’s _in love with Bones_.

Which, he decides after a few days of contemplation, is bullshit. Because he can’t be in love. That’s not how he works. Hell, he doesn’t even know what love actually _is,_ so how can he claim to be in love? 

It’s not fucking possible, period, and he decides to prove it to himself, too. 

He hunts down Bones, intent on having a proper drink so he can _analyze_ his feelings when he’s around Bones, which _won’t_ be any different, dammit. Only, when he gets to Bones, he’s kneeling down in front of Joanna—Bones is able to meet her more regularly with his whole ‘hero’ status, but every time, Bones acts as if he hasn’t seen her in years—and smiling wide. He throws back his head and laughs, whole-body, at something that Joanna’s said.

It’s a huge difference from the way Jim has seen him these past few days—hell, these past few weeks, where Bones has been tense and tired and, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, drinking more. 

Something unfurls in Jim’s chest—indigestion, Jim wants to call it, but it’s too _keen_ to be something like that—and Jim’s breath catches. He swallows and turns on his heel.

He analyzes his feelings, and his analysis is as follows: _fuck_. 

***

He keeps it within himself for a month, but he’s almost bursting with the need to tell someone. He can’t tell Bones, obviously, and Bones is generally his go-to guy for this sort of shit. And he needs to discuss this with someone, someone who can actually understand the fucked up mess that are _emotions_ (which means obviously Spock’s outta the picture).

It’s always been his problem: having the need to tell someone, but having no one to do the actual _telling_ to. Then Bones came along, but, well, this time, it’s a little different. 

He decides to suck it up and shoves the need down, as usual. 

He ends up with Uhura, somehow, grabbing a drink while on shore leave because Bones is busy and Spock is busy and Scotty is getting drunk by himself and Sulu is who knows where and Chekov is a fucking baby _._ And, in something that is probably a fit of temporary insanity, he hears himself whisper amongst the loud music and the acrid stench of sweat, mostly to himself, “I’m in love with Bones.” 

Uhura stares at him for a second, and Jim’s ready to pretend to have said nothing—she obviously can’t have heard of him, thank god—but then she raises an eyebrow. 

Fuck her exceptional aural sensitivity.

“Duh,” she says—shouts, really, leaning in. She smiles at him.

“I can’t—.” Jim licks his lips. Might as well admit it, now that he’s let the cat out of the bag. He wants to tell her about his fear, his inability to have an actual _relationship_ , his fear that Bones won’t—can’t—feel the same way, his fear that _he can’t do it_ , he can’t be in love, because love is too big a word for him, but what comes out is: “I can’t tell him. I don’t— _emotions_.”

It’s not his most coherent conversation, but he’s well on his way to being drunk and really fucking confused about the whole thing, anyway, so he doesn’t let it bother him too much. 

The smile drops from Uhura’s face. She pinches the bridge of her nose. Her lips form his name— _Jim_ —and he can almost hear the disapproving tone in her voice, but instead he knocks back his drink and disappears into the writhing mass of bodies. 

He smiles, slow and lazy, at a guy, grinds against him, takes him to bed, and fucks him until he can’t anymore. 

He pretends not to notice how similar he looked to Bones. 

***

Uhura tries to talk to him about it again, but Jim’s good at avoiding conversation he doesn’t want to be having, so her attempts are easy enough to evade. He’s pissed her off so much, she’s now left her attempts at _conversation_ to ill-concealed glares and exasperated sighs, but he knows that she’ll soon give up on that, too.

He’s good at that—making people give up on him. He’s had his whole fucking life to perfect the art. Knows exactly which buttons to press and how to behave. 

Except, apparently, Bones doesn't get the memo— _as usual—_ because he corners him one day and fixes him with a glare.

“What’s your problem?” he demands, arms crossed.

Always so eloquent, Bones. 

Jim rolls his eyes, but his heart is racing because _fuckfuckfuck what if Bones finds out?_ “Nothing, Bones.” He makes sure not to cross his arms, because that’s a defensive gesture and Bones will absolutely pick up on it. Instead, he leans back against the wall and raises an eyebrow. “You been hitting the brandy again?” 

It’s a low blow, one that Jim regrets saying as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but it’s out, and if there’s one thing that Jim Kirk doesn’t do, it’s apologize. 

Bones’ lips thin, but he doesn’t show any other visual reaction. Doesn’t have to, really, because the man’s an open book if you know where to look—one glance into his hazel eyes and everything’s laid bare. He’s hurt, obviously, and Jim hates that he’s the one that’s put it here, but he can’t really do anything about it. 

“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” Bones says, all sarcasm and bluster to hide his own vulnerability. 

Jim knows _exactly_ what to say, knows exactly what’ll cut Bones to—well, the bone. Knows exactly what’ll stop him in his tracks, knows which sharp words will have Bones giving up. Knows the man better than he knows himself, which is saying something, because Jim’s had a lot of time to be introspective.  

He doesn’t say any of it, though, because it’s _Bones_ , and he won’t do that. It was different with Uhura—it was easier to hurt her, a little bit, piss her off and force her away, but he won’t do the same with Bones. _Can’t_. Because he’s selfish, he wantsBones, he _needs_ him, and for maybe the second time in his life, Jim doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to bluff his way out of this one. Can’t evade Bones, because _Jim’s_ the one that’s always going back to him. 

“It’s _nothing_ , Bones,” he repeats, adding a little grin. “Seriously. Would I lie to you?” 

“Yes,” Bones says without preamble.

Which, _ouch_.

“If you thought you were _doing the right thing_ , Jim, yeah, you would,” Bones adds, obviously seeing Jim’s failed attempt at shrugging the blunt answer off. “You’d die trying to do the right thing—already have, in fact.” Bones seems fine with dealing out low blows, too, because he knows how much trouble Jim’s been having with his ‘death.’ 

Jim’s never outright told him, but Bones just _knows_.

Jim narrows his eyes. Straightens. And then gives a tired sigh, not all for show, because he knows _exactly_ what to say. “I’m—I’m sorry, Bones. I just. It’s the whole… _death_ thing, I guess.” He looks away, and he doesn’t have to feign the inability to meet Bones’ eyes. He feels guilty, really fucking guilty for lying to Bones, but he tells himself it’s not _all_ a lie. He has been having trouble with the fact that he did kinda die. It’s not like a skinned knee, something someone gets over in a couple of days. 

“…Oh.” 

Jim chances a glance upward, through his lashes, and sees Bones looking uncomfortable but also so _understanding_ , always so fucking _understanding_.

Jim doesn’t deserve that. Doesn’t deserve Bones. 

“That’s—okay.” Bones pauses. “You…you wanna talk about it?” 

Jim lets the wry smirk break free and this time faces Bones. “What do you think?” 

Bones looks vaguely relieved. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He peers at him. “You should talk to the therapist.” 

Jim barks out a laugh. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Jim, I’m serious.” Bones looks at him with beseeching eyes and adds, “Please. Just—just once. Just to consult on this. I’ve been so—you look like shit, kid.” 

And Jim can’t really refuse Bones anything, not when he’s looking at him like that, not when the unsaid words— _I’ve been so worried about you—_ are ringing through his head.

So he nods, agrees, because it’s _Bones._

He’ll do anything for the son of a bitch. 

***

He fakes his way through therapy, which is disturbingly easy. Lets the therapist know just enough to let him think he’s made headway, and then pretends to be all right, when he knows exactly how fucked up he actually is. Tarsus, Frank, Winona, _Kirk_ —yeah, he hasn’t gone through all that as unscarred as he likes to pretend. So he plays the therapist for a couple of months, just long enough for Bones to be satisfied, then pastes on his grin at the end.

He’s good at that, too. 

***

By the time he’s done with “therapy,” he’s pretty much resigned to the fact that he’s in love, and probably always will be. He’s also resigned to the fact that his love is wholly and utterly unrequited, and always will be. 

He is unlovable, and he really wishes he weren’t so well aware of the fact.

***

Bones tells him he’s in love with Christine a few weeks after his therapy, and Jim pretends that doesn’t make him feel like throwing up.

Instead, he grins and winks, tells him to ‘stick her with the pointy end.’

Bones cuffs him over the head, but he’s grinning, and that’s worth something, even though Jim feels like he can’t breathe the moment Bones steps out and Jim can let his facade fall away. 

He hyperventilates, and realizes he’s having a panic attack—been a while since his last one—so he goes through his usual routine and waits it out. 

He crawls into bed and just lies there, telling himself that Christine’s good for Bones. She’s good, kind, smart— _whole_. She can give Bones what he wants. What he deserves. Not like Jim. 

He can give Bones nothing but sorrow.

*** 

Jim marries them a year later, grinning so wide the whole time his face hurts. 

He gets drunk alone in his cabin and cries for the first time in more than a decade, because he loves Bones—loves him so much it _hurts_ —and Bones will never love him back. Not like he wants. 

He gets up the next day, though—always gets back up, though he’s starting to wonder _why_ again—and drags himself out of bed, makes himself presentable, practices his smile in the bathroom mirror, and congratulates Bones once more. Distances himself from the hurt that spikes through his chest every time he sees Bones and Christine smiling at each other, knowing that it’ll dim soon. Never go away fully, no, but it’ll become bearable, bearable enough that he doesn’t _feel_ so much, each time, because he knows that his love for Bones will never go away, but he also knows that he can’t tell, can’t ever tell.

So he ignores Uhura’s sympathetic glances and tries to strategize how he’ll be able to avoid Bones for the next few weeks, until he has better control over his emotions.  

Jim Kirk knows when to give up. 

**Author's Note:**

> So. Um. Yeah. Sorry, I can't really write angst, but I wrote this anyway and posted it because why the hell not, you know? Anyway, any and all con-crit would be much appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
